


Depthless

by byzantienne



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-22
Updated: 2010-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-06 13:47:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/byzantienne/pseuds/byzantienne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Russia considers that China has claimed to be the center of the world, or the world itself. China is very small to have claimed such things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Depthless

**Author's Note:**

> Sometime in the late 1940s.
> 
> Power and delicacy and permutations thereof.
> 
> (Originally written for [Saying Yes!](http://community.livejournal.com/saying_yes_2010/).)

China's hair used to be very long, Russia thinks, almost as long as his entire spine when Russia had unbraided it from its queue, and it would spread out on the bed under them like a scrim of ink over one of his inkstones. When China would reach up to Russia, then, and pull him down, his hands were like the bamboo brushes he uses to draw his calligraphy. Russia had told him that, and China had thought it was poetic of him to say so, thought it enough that he had actually told Russia aloud. Russia had felt very warm.

Russia was much younger then.

Now China has cut his hair short and it hasn't finished growing into whatever length it is going to be. It isn't flattering except that it is turning into something new. Russia unties it from where China's kept it pulled back anyhow, and it spills almost to China's shoulders and gets in his eyes a little. Also, he shivers. Russia thinks he must be cold. It is very cold in Kamchatka, where they are tonight, and China is thin, like the wings of a bird or the fragile stems of the bamboo – Russia likes thinking of China in China's fashion, especially because China's fashion is so much akin to his own now.

"Comrade," China says, like a breath, and Russia shivers too, and smiles.

The bed in this all-weather tent is a canvas-and-metal cot. It is narrow and there is a blanket folded neatly under the pillow at its head, and Russia has slept on far worse. He is thinking about the bed now for two reasons: first, because he is sitting on it, and second, because China has left the folding card-table where he was sitting and has come to stand in front of Russia with one of his hands reaching out towards Russia's shoulder. His fingers brush the cotton of Russia's coat. It is the same cotton – not in color, of course, but in quality and weave! – as China's own uniform. Russia has never worn the same sort of garment as China before.

Even when Russia is sitting and China is on his feet, China is barely as tall as Russia's eyes.

When China has climbed into his lap, Russia has to look down.

He is light enough that the metal bar of the cot is not pressing any more uncomfortably under Russia's thighs. He does not kiss Russia. China does not kiss very often. Russia's mouth opens anyway, as if he has.

When China flattens his palm and presses, it is very simple for Russia to lie down and look up through the shorn scrim of China's hair to the ceiling. The ceiling is grey. Russia would prefer to look at China, so he does. China's eyes sometimes have pupils in the daylight but they are the same color all through now, black, like the sky that Russia cannot see, or very deep water. Russia cannot find any reflections in them at all.

While he has been looking at China's eyes, China has unclasped all the clasps of his coat, opening it as if Russia is a gift covered in paper. Russia smiles. He would like to be a gift for China if China would like to have a gift, he thinks, so he reaches up and cups the back of his skull in his palm. It only takes one palm.

China says something in his own language. It is not a word Russia knows. He strokes through the strands of China's hair. They do not twine around his fingers, they slip and fall away and make a sound like rain when they brush against each other. China's hands come up to his throat. They are knotted in his scarf, and then unknotted, unknotting.

Russia does not mean to shudder, or to shut his eyes, or to become so very still.

China waits. It is very considerate of China to wait.

China has seen what is under Russia's scarf before, when he and Russia were not yet comrades against the depredations of the capitalists and the imperialists. Russia would like to show China that he has not changed now that they are so much the same.

"Yes," he says, opening his eyes. He says it in China's language so China is sure to understand. Then he begins to open all of the tiny buttons that hold China's uniform together.

Underneath, China's ribs move under his skin, close to the surface. They shift and stretch every time he breathes, with every sweep of his hands across Russia's chest and stomach. Russia can see the edges of his hipbones above the waistband of his pants. The space between them and his lowest ribs is less than half the size of Russia's hand. Russia puts it there, to check, and China makes a sound which is not a word at all.

After that Russia does not have time to pay attention to exactly what China is doing. China moves very fast when he wants to. His ribs slide through Russia's fingers like the strands of his hair, liquid and quick and smooth, the pads of his fingertips riding each curve and hollow. Russia's hands cup his hips, end up splayed on his thighs when he rises up on his knees. Russia considers that China has claimed to be the center of the world, or the world itself.

China is very small to have claimed such things.

Russia's thigh is pressed open and up and China's fingers, narrow and delicate and hooked into the flesh just above his knee, are all that has caused this.

He wants, in a depthless and sudden fashion that is not entirely made from the desire of his body, to encompass all that China has ever _been_ \-- lifts his head from the canvas to watch the twist and skirl of China's hips, the slide out of stillness into force – wants to envelope him with more than the flesh he possesses or even the colors of their flags -- _breathes_, through the desire, and notices that his breath has sound and China's carries words instead.

.

\--


End file.
